


Tribute

by Srs (requiesticat)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Gen, Psychological Drama, Respawn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/requiesticat/pseuds/Srs
Summary: The mercenaries could always rely on respawning should they perish in battle, but the system itself isn't foolproof. Those who are unlucky will remain dead. One such mercenary died and never returned, leaving the Sniper wanting revenge. Holding up his friend's mantle, he sets out to honor the man's memory, but soon learns that the hardest part of living with losses is to let go.





	Tribute

**Author's Note:**

> A written adaption of Tribute, a SFM by LoneWolfHBS. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEYgMh2MHyQ
> 
> The summary is based off the one from the video description.

_"Start fighting now!”_

The BLUs had prepared for battle long before the Announcer’s voice came over the intercom, and were waiting for the right moment to leave their base. The mercenaries stood at the exit, clutching their respective weapons and gadgets in anticipation.

One man lingered behind the others.

Sniper was standing idly by his locker, looking as if he had not heard the announcement. In actuality he had, but he was ignoring it.

He didn’t keep much in there apart from his rifle, revolver, knife, and an old photograph. The picture was of him and the BLU Spy.

A gentle smile crossed his long features as he looked at it, and he grew wistful. It had been taken in better days.

They had both been around then.

Smile faltering, Sniper put the laminated image back. He slipped the knife out of the compartment and flipped it open. It was a balisong. Not customary for a man of his class to use in battle, but even so, he knew how to wield the blade. It had belonged to Spy, and he regarded it as more of a memento than a thing to use in a tight spot.

“Let’s go!”

Hesitantly, Sniper glanced at his teammates. Most of them had left while his back was turned, but Scout, Soldier, and Engineer regarded his camping as wasting time. They all gave him strange looks, still encouraging everyone to move forward as they marched out of the base.

Sniper hoped it wasn’t because of the cigarette or the fact that he wasn’t wearing his aviators, but noone had questioned him about that. If anyone asked, he would say that he had taken up smoking, and the sunglasses obscured his vision.

“Gear forward! Left… left… left… left, right, left…”

“Letttt’s do iiiiiit!”

“Is everybody ready?” “Sir, yes sir!”

He couldn’t stay in the spawn and reminisce. He had a job to do.

Sniper put the knife into his pocket and followed the others outside. He was about to survey the area around the entire base when Demoman stopped in front of the entrance, pausing to unleash a battle cry and fire his grenade launcher. _“Freeedooom!!”_

Sniper paused beside Engineer, waiting patiently for the others to keep moving. He watched the bomb Demo fired ricochet of the walls of the surrounding buildings, eventually hurtling back towards their base.

“Oh, that smarts.”

Before anyone could react, the Scot was blown to pieces. Engineer gasped, eventually letting out a belly laugh at his deceased comrade’s lack of foresight. Sniper was left staring at the charred space where Demoman had stood. Eventually he just shook his head, allowing himself to take some amusement in it. It didn’t surprise Sniper that the most bombastic member of both teams would accidentally blow himself up.

Absentmindedly, he made a mental note to visit the Demoman at the graveyard if he failed to respawn. Something had gone wrong with the spawn that the Engineer, for the life of him, said he could not figure out.

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, and footsteps echoed across the barracks. Sniper moved away from the others, passing through the area until he found the destination he had in mind. It was a secluded platform just above where the REDs and BLUs tended to mingle- or clash, if the battle did not reach a stalemate. Climbing flights of stairs to reach it, he eventually stood on top of the small lookout, half-hidden in the shadows of the entrance.

Sniper was confident that he had hidden himself well. Sure, he might be targeted by their Spy, or their Sniper would give him a run for his money- but then again, both of them had better targets to focus on assassinating. Sniper wasn’t that worried about being ambushed.

As it turned out, he was right. Noone fired at him, so it was easy to take out the RED Heavy when he plodded into the vicinity of Sniper’s shooting range. He charged his gun and aimed at the Russian’s temple, firing once. The Heavy’s anguished scream and crumpled body told him he had gotten a successful headshot.

Sniper continued to survey the area from his vantage point, observing both squadrons with his rifle. After taking out the RED Soldier, he passed the telescopic sight over every BLU and RED’s head, attempting to locate what he had come for.

The objective of today’s battle was to reach payload and push a bomb on a railroad track that ran through enemy territory, but noone particularly wanted to do it. The BLUs were pushing the bomb’s cart with a palpable lack of enthusiasm, and those that didn’t bother were practically relaxing on top of it.

 “What the hell? Who stopped pushin’ the cart?”

Scout voiced the most complaints. When noone responded, he began to reprimand his sluggish comrades. “Is someone gonna push the freakin’ cart?!”

“Shut up! Why don’t you push?”

Even Medic didn’t have the drive to take charge, telling the others to do it themselves in his exhaustion. With a considerable amount of patience, Sniper stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He took a long drag from his cigarette as he balanced the M40 on his shoulder, searching for potential targets coming to hinder his team’s progress.

Sniper was just glad the German hadn’t stopped him from smoking. He wasn’t himself without his nicotine fix.

The case of cigarettes tucked safely in his vest had belonged to the BLU Spy, just as the knife had belonged to him. But he was gone now, and Sniper had no way to give them back to his old colleague. There was no point in trying anymore. His eyes stung, and he took another drag.

Goddamn emotions. He could do without them.

As if on cue, Pyro darted away from the Engineer’s nest of machines, leaving them sparkling and crackling in his wake. They shut down before the mechanic could reach them.

“Spy sappin’ my dispenser- that Pyro’s a spy!”

The Engineer’s voice was faint, but he heard it echo across 2Fort all the same. Sniper perked up at the sight of the disguised RED Spy disappearing around the corner, but did not aim for his head.

He began searching until he found the RED Engineer’s handiwork, stationed on a different platform a few meters away. He’d found what he was looking for.

Sniper remembered.

“ _Spy sappin’ my dispenser!”_

_Once, he had been good friends with the BLU Spy. They had spent so much time together- even on the battlefield, when it wasn’t safe. He’d always had the Sniper’s back._

_“I’m gonna-“_

_He remembered shooting the RED Engineer before the mercenary could prevent the spy from sapping his buildings. Spy had smiled warmly at Sniper from behind the faltering structures, and he had responded in kind._

_“There ya go. No worries,” he had said._

Sniper was back in the present. He missed those days, and sometimes, it felt as if they would never come back. That memory was especially precious to him, for they had worked together in a crucial moment. They had looked at each other with complete understanding, knowing that everything would work out in the end.

Sniper missed that. He really did.

He heard floorboards creaking behind him, and his eye twitched involuntarily. _Spy._ Whirling around allowed him to catch the double agent in the act, and he very nearly avoided getting shot in the face.

The RED Spy aimed his pistol with silent loathing, glaring maliciously at the hitman. There was nothing personal in the expression. The Spy did not seem to recognize who was before him, but Sniper became enraged all the same. Instinctively, he grabbed his rifle and hefted it up, attempting to point it at his attacker.

The force of the next bullet knocked it out of his hands. Cursing, Sniper leapt into the air, dodging the ongoing pursuit with surprising agility. Tumbling head over heels, the sound of gunshots ringing in his ears, he called out for assistance.

“Need some help here!”

Sniper was already weary from the physical extortion, breathing heavily as he scrambled to pull himself up. He may have been good at dodging, but it didn’t keep him from being out of shape.

Noone came to his rescue. His back slammed into a wall around the corner, and he slid to the ground. Frantically, Sniper patted his clothing, stopping short only when he found that the balisong hadn’t fallen out of it.

“Coward.” The Spy was laughing in a faux imitation of the Australian’s voice. _“Good day to you, mate!”_

Christ. Spies were good at the most invasively personal shit. How had he been able to stand it?

In a matter of seconds, he flipped open the dagger and charged around the corner, hoping to take the scarlet rouge by surprise. The Spy’s response was to instinctively shove his arm at Sniper’s neck. Before he knew it, his own arm was trembling, trying to force the limb away as he stared into the barrel of the Ambassador.

 The Frenchman snickered. A blade sprang out from under his sleeve, nearly grazing the Sniper’s throat. _“Surprise."_

Sniper shoved the Spy off of him. Unfazed, his attacker dropped his gun and made a defensive stance. The blade glinted at his wrist, just visible behind his gloved hand.

“Let’s settle this like gentlemen,” he announced, smirking. It was as if he was waiting for the Australian to make the next move. Baiting him to die, perhaps. Sniper could wait. He had patience and experience that this man could never hope to acquire.

Grimacing, Sniper wiped his nose. Tracing his scarred cheek with his thumb, he tightened his grip around the hilt of his own weapon.

He lunged forward. The Spy’s reflexes were woefully intact, allowing him to dodge and bring his own weapon down towards the Sniper’s chest.  Fortunately for him, it kept missing. They entered a mock game of cat and mouse, both men sidestepping and furiously trying to stab each other in the back.

Usually when Spies backstabbed someone, they got away with it. That was the way of things. Snipers were especially easy targets to pick off if they didn’t know what they were doing, but this day, the tables had turned. They were both men past their prime; fortunate that their addictions had not caught up to them at this age, and the game couldn’t go on forever.

Darting behind the Spy, Sniper took the opportunity he was given and plunged the balisong into the back of the burgundy suit. The assassin’s disdainful expression turned to one of shock as he fell, realization dawning upon him.

He had been backstabbed by a Sniper who was good with _knives_ instead of sharpshooting. Not even the kukri, but the model Spy generally used. On top of that, the man had detected his presence right away, wasn’t wearing his usual attire for god knows what reason, and had chosen a very familiar brand of cigarettes to smoke.

Come to think of it, the BLU Spy hadn’t been around lately, not even to show up in battle. It could mean a number of things: that he’d gone AWOL, he was refusing to fight, the respawn had failed, or…

 _“Oh.”_ It was all the RED Spy managed to get out before he lost consciousness. His body sprawled awkwardly across the wooden surface of the lookout.

Sniper brushed himself off, looking fiercer than he had in ages.

“What goes around comes around,” he murmured, glaring down upon the man he had killed. He had finally gotten his revenge, and that was more than enough to satisfy him. He just hoped it would last.

_“The bomb has almost reached the final terminus!”_

The Announcer’s voice crackled over the intercom, filling Sniper with a sudden dread. He was still on edge from the latest onslaught, and he was not about to just stand there and get attacked again. He began looking for the lift that held the offending weapon of mass destruction.

It was then that he realized how light his head was. Feeling it told him his akubra was missing, and Sniper stopped short when he saw that it had landed atop the BLU Soldier’s helmet. The crazed marine was standing atop the lift as it rose into the air, and the atomic weapon was visible behind him.

Dearest God in heaven, it looked like something out of _Dr_. _Strangelove_. Soldier was Major Kong, riding the bomb to victory.

There was no way to get to him in time. Sniper cursed. The RED team was only a few yards away, now daring to show their faces if it meant winning today’s match.

Soldier looked bewildered for a second, and then his expression turned to one of glee. “Did I win? _I won!_ ” he yelled, hands forming peace signs. Holding them high above his head, he looked utterly triumphant. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The REDs had other ideas, and were running at breakneck speed towards the lift. “No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!” “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “Yes!” “Nope!”  “Yes! Yes! Yes! _Yes- ARRRRRGH!_ “

Soldier screamed just as the bomb exploded. It left behind a mushroom cloud, and the ground shook in its wake. The sheer force of it told the Sniper that Soldier had been taken out by the earth-shattering collision, for there was no surviving such a blast at close range.

The Announcer spoke of their victory. His team had succeeded.

Sniper continued to watch the fallout. He was about to turn in when he heard a loud thump behind him.

His hat fell on his head, miraculously unscathed from the explosion, but the man who had fallen wasn’t. Soldier lay in a battered heap, chuckling weakly before collapsing. A few minutes passed, and the body faded away.

The silence was deafening. Sniper stared at the darkening horizon, lost in thought.

They had won the battle, but they hadn’t won the war.

-

Everyone was back in the BLU base, celebrating their hard earned victory with drinks and positive affirmation. Soldier’s arms were in casts, but the eagle badge pinned to his chest left him in high spirits.

Medic and Engineer were especially enthralled by the award. “Amazing, comrade!” The former gave Soldier a thumbs up, who laughed heartily in response.

“Nice job, partner.”

“Medals for everyone! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Sniper could hear them cheering from outside. They had not thanked him for killing the other team’s Spy, but he didn’t need them to. Noone deserved pension for committing a senseless murder, even if the bastard had it coming.

The sun was setting, and he was alone on the roof. Quietly, he looked at the picture.

The BLU Spy was standing next to him. They had been leaning into each other’s shoulders, posing and smiling up at the camera. If Sniper was remembering things correctly, Engineer had gladly taken the opportunity to do an impromptu photoshoot.

They looked as if they had not fought thousands of times and gotten killed for serving their respective countries. Two middle-aged men making the best of their lives, content with the knowledge that things would work out so long as they had each other.

Together, they had never dreamed that today’s battle would have gone the way it did. They couldn’t have known.

He’d stared at the picture with nostalgia earlier that day, and the smile he wore mirrored that of the Sniper’s. But the Spy’s face hid a tinge of gentle sadness behind the faint grin. There was fear in those eyes. Fear and longing and hatred for allowing himself to get close to anyone- even one of his own teammates. Fear that someday, he could lose his friend to enemy fire, or even be killed himself. This was a terror the Sniper had not known at the time the photograph was taken.

It was all he had left, and he was still in mourning.

Sniper’s smile faded for the last time, and he watched the sky with tired eyes. He couldn’t do this any longer.

He was going to make another visit, and then maybe he’d give up this business for good. He’d thought he was doing a great service by avenging his acquaintance, but all it did was wear him down and remind him of the man who laid in the graveyard. His obsession with the past had nearly cost him his life, and resulted in the loss of two valuable members of his team.

It was his fault they were dead, and he knew it.

Grimly, he made his way down a ladder and headed to his van. He was grateful that noone saw him walking across the grounds, for his expression might have given him away.

-

It had taken awhile, but he’d arrived at the memorial site. The drive had been relatively peaceful, and he was taken by memories as he made his way down a familiar dirt road.

He’d parked the van and walked toward the sign that marked the entrance. He knew it read _‘Respawn Failures Memorial’_ , and for the most part, he’d begun to ignore it.

It was the longest walk of his life.

He stopped in front of one of the tombstones. Folding his hands, he lowered his head in silent prayer. It was not in English, but a language that the Sniper shouldn’t have been able to articulate.

Spy couldn’t call himself Sniper anymore.

He removed the hat. His disguise faded into nothing with it, and he felt some of the weight drop off his shoulders with the deformation. He didn’t care.

Nothing really mattered when your best friend was dead, and you were to blame.

_He hadn’t managed to save the BLU Sniper. The RED Spy had shot him after he killed the Engineer. Spy had cried out, losing all composure as he reached for his fallen comrade._

Quietly, he placed his headgear on Sniper’s grave. It sat alongside the photograph, and the sight alone brought him a little happiness.

Only for a moment.  He looked at the information on the stone as he straightened up, reading the name, date, and message carved in granite as he had many times before.

 

_Michael “Mick” Mundy_

_1933-1970_

_To a loving son, friend, and brave soldier_

_He’d stood in front of the base after it had happened, desperately waiting for his friend to respawn. His posture was one of nonchalance, but he felt utterly hopeless, casting constant nervous glances at the silver doors. Heavy and Soldier ran out of them instead._

_“Back from the dead and reporting for duty!”_

_“Who killed Heavy? Dying just makes me angry!”_

_He had only allowed himself to stay for a few minutes after that. Watching the rest of his team walk out unscathed was more than he could stand._

Tears came to his eyes, and he stared morosely at the ground. It was bright out here, and the desert heat was making him nauseous. He had spent so much time as Mundy that he’d grown unused to wearing formal clothing in this humidity.

This wasn’t right. It should have been raining. Cold and gray, just as the day Sniper had been murdered.

_“This way, doctor!”_

_Spy had led the Medic to Sniper’s body, shouting for the man to save him. Medic had done all he could, looking more anxious than Spy had ever seen him._

_“Doctor!”_

_“Yes, I know!”_

It was then that Spy noticed the man standing next to him. The RED Spy stood a few feet away, looking at him in silence. His expression was unreadable.

_“N…no…”_

With shaking hands, Spy pulled out his revolver.  This was the man who had murdered Sniper. His best friend was gone because of him.

A faint sadness was hidden in the RED Spy’s expression. Furtively, he glanced at the tombstones around him, and his eyes came to rest on the Sniper’s grave.

“Apologies,” was all he said. His voice was unnaturally soft.

Though the revolver was aimed directly at his skull, he did not move. He only stood there, hands folded, watching a broken man threatening to take his life.

Spy trembled, unable to stop himself. No. This shouldn’t be happening. It was immoral as the desert sun, sapping the area of life and killing anyone who dared to trespass its barren grounds. This man should have been calm and collected at all times. He was a damned undercover agent who worked for the FBI. He should have been looking at the BLU Spy with the same contempt he’d shown on the battlefield, not understanding and sympathy. He should have been laughing his victims, not visiting a graveyard to pay respects.

The RED Spy should have killed him when he’d gotten the chance. He shouldn’t have _won._

His hand gave out, falling limply at his side. He looked away.

Spy couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

They stayed there for some time, heads bowed, both unwilling to break the silence. The BLU Spy watched the horizon with tired eyes, waiting for absolution that would never come. 

 -

_Sniper lay before them, unmoving. Medic placed a gloved hand upon Spy’s shoulder, whispering apologies. The look he’d given Spy still haunted him._

_They prepared for a funeral._


End file.
